


Sweet Milk and Jasmine

by Gileonnen



Series: The Blade of the Vanguard [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Tea Shop Dates, Gentle Praise Kink, Handholding, M/M, Reminiscing about Lost Friends, The Romantic Allure of Paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: Kalith stops into a tea shop to do some paperwork; Zavala comes in out of the rain.
Relationships: Male Guardian/Zavala (Destiny)
Series: The Blade of the Vanguard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671325
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	Sweet Milk and Jasmine

Kalith comes back from a rotation on Io with yellow sand still caught in the folds of his robes; when he pulls off his helmet, the dust gathered against the seal comes away in a great saffron cloud. He smells that alien soil lingering on the air: salt and juniper and lightning, and the ancient tang of long-dead seas.

He transmats his armor away and lets sleeveless day robes settle over him in their place--deep purple shading to blue at his throat, edged at every hem with whorls of shining silver. A cascade of thin silver rings hanging from his ears, studded here and there with delicate beads of fluorite and amethyst.

It feels good to be out of armor at last. It feels good not to be wearing white and gold.

At his favorite tea shop, Kalith orders himself a pot of jasmine tea and sits sipping a cup in silence while other customers filter in and out. Soft string music plays as people browse the sweets display, picking up a half-dozen sesame rice balls or a delicate coconut milk custard. The scents of a dozen teas mingle: jasmine, hibiscus and orange, milk tea with taro, green tea warm and bitter-tart. Kalith lets himself drink in the warm, quiet atmosphere as he works through his patrol reports and tactical response recommendations.

Outside, the cloudy sky breaks open. Rain first patters, then pours down the mullioned windows; children shriek with laughter as they hike their jackets up over their heads and run for cover. People stream into the tea shop still halfway through conversations, then order pots of coffee or masala chai to share while they wait out the rain.

Among them is Zavala, inconspicuous in a high-collared coat that sheds rain in pearls and streamers. He greets the woman at the counter politely and orders something--it's too loud by now to hear what--then turns around as though looking for a place to sit.

Kalith's stomach twists a little. Last time he saw Zavala in person, he'd only barely managed to keep from crying all over his knitting table; he'd clung to Zavala's hands as though to a lifeline. Over the comms, though, Zavala has been a consummate professional. _Strike Team, your mission designation is Operation Peryton,_ he'd said, as though Kalith was only another Guardian under his command. _I'm counting on you to deny this Taken incursion into the Pyramidion._

He doesn't know what they are to each other, or whether he's allowed to want it to change--but this is only a cup of tea and a seat out of the rain. Surely he's allowed to want that.

He waves Zavala over, nudging out the other chair at his table with his foot, and Zavala comes without even a moment's hesitation. "Kalith," he says, as though testing out the name--it's the first time that he's called Kalith anything but _Guardian_ , and it sounds unfamiliar and intimate on his tongue. "Welcome back from Io."

It doesn't mean anything, that he remembers where Kalith was deployed. He probably keeps the entire Guardian rota in his head; the only difference is that with Kalith, he can fit callsign to face. "I was just finishing the paperwork," says Kalith, tilting up his datapad. "You'll have it before midnight."

"Sometimes, I wonder how someone as conscientious as you became Cayde's friend," says Zavala, with a shake of the head that Kalith can only call fond. He sits in the offered chair and sets a grocery bag down beside him; Kalith glimpses garleeks and shining oranges. "Your work ethic is commendable."

"I have to fill my time somehow," says Kalith. "Can't always be racing Sparrows and dancing until sunrise."

"All the same. Guardians like you take some of the weight off of the Vanguard's shoulders. The administrative burden of our operation is ... considerable."

Even that indifferent praise sends a warm thrill through Kalith, lighting along every nerve with gratitude and pleasure. He wants to be the person that Zavala sees--responsible, commendable, a credit to the Vanguard. A sharp tool in their arsenal, honed to a purpose. He had let himself forget how much he craves that feeling of being essential.

He wants to be good. He wants so very badly for someone to tell him that he's good.

"I'm sorry," says Zavala, as the quiet moment stretches on. "I have a hard time leaving work in the Tower."

"So do I," Kalith admits. "I don't think I've ever seen you out of the Tower, actually. Until today, I hadn't conceived of you getting groceries. Or stopping somewhere for tea. You've always been this--this untouchable figure. Almost a myth. I'm still processing finding out that you knit."

"The City needs myths," says Zavala gravely. "And right now, I need a cup of sweet milk tea."

It takes Kalith a moment--but when he sees the faint crack of mirth in Zavala's deadpan expression, he can't help grinning. "I'm starting to understand how you and Cayde were friends. You must have given him so much shit."

"No more than he gave me," Zavala answers, with a private little smile. "We had a complicated working relationship."

"And your personal relationship?"

"Also complicated."

"Were you--" Kalith begins, but then the barista calls Zavala's drink, and Zavala excuses himself to take it.

 _Were you something?_ Kalith wants to ask, but that isn't the question that eats at him. If they were in love, if they weren't, that isn't his business. He's burned some of Cayde's secrets, buried some, borne others against his heart until they felt like a part of his flesh. This one isn't Kalith's to carry.

As Zavala sits down again, though, Kalith wonders, _When you lost him, did it feel like losing the part of you that could go out for tea and give people shit?_

"What were you about to say?" Zavala asks as he takes a first sip of his tea. His eyes close as he tilts the cup back; his dark eyelashes shadow his cheeks.

Kalith's mouth goes dry. He takes a sip of his own tea to cover how thoroughly he's lost his train of thought and asks, "Were you--would you like to go out for drinks sometime?"

Zavala glances up at him, eyes gleaming silver-blue. Only a faint crinkling at the corners gives away that he's smiling. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"It doesn't have to be a date," says Kalith immediately. "If you'd just like a friend, or someone to listen, I want to give you that. I don't want you to be alone. Or if you are, I want to be alone with you."

Zavala sets down his cup and reaches across the table for Kalith's hand. His skin is warm from the tea, damp from the rain; his palm settles over the back of Kalith's hand as though it remembers the shape. Kalith's chest goes tight with longing. "I'd like you to take me out," says Zavala softly. "I'd like to be alone with you."

Warmth uncoils beneath Kalith's ribs--a yearning both sweet and keen that heats his cheeks and his loins. He wants so very much to lean across the table and press his lips to Zavala's, and to drink those honeyed words from his mouth.

Instead, he turns his hand under Zavala's and links their fingers together. "After I finish my reports?" he ventures.

Zavala smiles. "I'll look forward to receiving them."


End file.
